For All Eternity
by RainbowCake-Eater
Summary: Till time tears us apart. Even then, you'll be in my heart. AU, homage to The Time Traveller's Wife. currently on hiatus.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:**

Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya

The Time Traveller's Wife belongs to Audrey Niffenegger.

I own nothing.

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Prologue

**Tino**

The house is still. The house is always still when he's gone. Even Hana makes no sound. I wait and wait and wait and wait for him. Berwald, my love. It's painful. Watching him disappear without warning, and the pained expression on his face.

I wait in time for him. Occupy myself until his return.

When he leaves, I sleep in the cold and I wake up in the cold. I paint pictures of our wedding. I take photographs. I listen to our song. I wear his clothes. Everything is cold and empty and dull. It's like that when the light of your life is gone. At times, thoughts wander into my head. I think, _why us?_

I remember the days where everything was simple. The days before Berwald. It was all just painting and happy days. But he changed me. He taught me how to live. He showed me the beauty in everything. And he showed me the pain of being left alone. When I wait for him, time slows down. Everything I do seems out of time. Even a second without him feels like a lifetime.

* * *

**Berwald**

How would it feel to time travel? _How?_

At times, it feels like your mind gets side-tracked and your body has done things without your mind noticing. One second you're sitting on the couch, holding your favourite book, wearing the sweater that your wife knitted for you on Christmas. The next second, the sweater is gone, your body is bared for the world to see, the couch is gone, your wife's voice is gone, and so has everything else. You see nothing because your glasses have dematerialised. You are instead standing in some unknown alleyway, in the long hours of the night. And you close your eyes, thinking that it would be back to normal when you open them. But that's never the case. Everything will be the same. You always wish that you'd go back to the time that you belong to. You sneak around to find somewhere to go. You sometimes stumble upon people, who will think that you're insane. Sometimes you explain, sometimes you steal. But explaining is painful and the only people who will believe you are the ones considered to be crazy. Stealing is easier. Stealing provides you with necessities. It sometimes lands you in jail, but it's not likely that you're going to stay there forever.

At times, it feels as if blood is rushing to your head. Even as you lay still in bed. You feel as if you're falling. You can no longer feel your limbs. You flail around, trying to hold on to whatever that will keep you from leaving, and suddenly you're slewing across the frosted driveway of a residence in Norrköping, Östergötland

at 9:45 p.m., Tuesday, November 16th, 1993, and your body pummels into someone's car, triggering the car alarm and causing the owner, Herr Kirster Johansson from Gothenburg, to run out of his house, baseball bat in hand and calling the cops because there's a man that looks dead in front of his car. Hours later, you wake up in Vrinnevisjukhuset, a hospital, with a half-asleep policeman waiting at your door. You are dragged back by the hands of sleep, and you awake in your own bed, back in Stockholm, with your wife still asleep, suspecting nothing.

At times, it is exhilarating. You feel everything around you and your stomach churns, and you have travelled. You throw up inside a potted plant, or your parents' Välkommen mat, or on your mum's dress shoes, or on your kitchen a week ago, or in a park in Uppsala, around 1910, or a pond on a snowy day in the 1960s, or on your bare feet at anytime, anywhere.

How does it feel?

It feels as if you are sleeping, dreaming of yourself making a presentation, to only realise that you've no article of clothing covering any part of your body and your glasses are gone. And you have no access to money, ID cards, and anything else.

When I am out of sync, I am upend. I change to what I will never be in my present. I become a burglar, a vagabond, an outcast who flees and lies low. I scare people and give myself the image of being drunk or crazy. I am a joke, a chimera, it's almost hard to believe that I exist.

Is there a reason that this happens? Is there some sort of logic that this follows? Is there a cure for this anomaly? Can you stay in the present and embrace the moment? Nobody knows. There are indications; just like any disease, there are arrangements, likelihoods. Things that trigger epilepsy, and added stress can cause me to travel. But I can be cooking dinner with Tino, and Hana would be running around the house, chasing nothing, and I could suddenly disappear, and I go back to 1988, watching my six-year-old self learning to whittle with my grandpa and dad.

Some occurrences last only for a few moments; it's like listening to static. I sometimes find myself in large crowds, or public places that are packed. Just as much as I find myself alone in a grassland, or a beach, or my old school in the middle of the night. I'm scared of travelling to a jail, or to an casino, or on a road in the middle of the day. When I appear I'm always in my birthday suit, with nothing on me. How do I explain? I see nothing, thanks to my inability to bring anything with me as I travel, thus my glasses get left behind.

It's strange. All the things I cherish are simple ones: woodworking tools, a lazy day spent with Tino. All I wish for are simple delights. My old copy of Män som hatar kvinnor, the scent of Tino's skin after he's taken a shower, letters from my dad in the mail, coffee in the morning, Tino's smooth tummy, his very many heavy metal CDs lined up on the shelves. I love strolling through Tino's showroom, tracing my fingers lightly against the photos of him, paintings of us. These are the things that make me wish that I was born normal, not a time traveller.

And Tino, always Tino. Tino when he wakes up, grumpy and confused. Tino with his paint streaked fingers and face, the brush in his hand like an extension, blending the colours splotched on the canvas. Tino listening to music, his earbuds in and his head rests on my lap, while his feet moves to the tempo of the song. I've memorised Tino's voice, the feeling of his body pressed up against mine.

I hate to leave him alone. I hate to leave him alone in the present. But I always go, even when I don't want to, and I leave him alone.

* * *

((A/N: I wasn't sure if someone had posted something like this, but I really love SuFin and The Time Traveller's Wife. I really hope you enjoyed reading this, because frankly, I enjoyed writing it! This is going to go similarly to the novel, but I may change some aspects of it. I'm not making Berwald a librarian. Berwald will be a carpenter hehehehehe. Reviews are much appreciated!))


	2. Chapter 1: First Date, One

Warnings: Sex. I forgot there was sex. So the rating went up.

Chapter Word Count: 5235

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**_First Date, One_**

_Saturday, November 3, 2007 (Berwald is 25, Tino is 18)_

**Tino**

The rustic woodworks store smelled like woodchips and polish (duh), and I smelled something familiar. Something… comforting. I looked around the store to see that it was very much devoid of human lives, as far as I can see. I have never once in my life been in a joiner's studio/shop before, and I am confused as to where I should to be going. I'm excited, yes, I am. But I'm afraid to touch anything in fear of breaking them. They all look picture perfect and precious. I look around a little more to find something, _anything_, for Angelika's birthday. After a desperate wail, I decided to approach a shopkeeper in hopes of them knowing what an eighteen year old boy should get for his best friend. The place is filled with sophisticatedly designed furniture that was created to perfection. Stockholm's morning sunlight could be seen though the window, giving the store an elegant ambience to it. Tomorrow is my best friend Angelika's eighteenth birthday, and being the nice friend that I am, I've decided to buy her a gift from an expensive woodwork store. I find a worker and ask him on what I should get for my best friend. He, for one, looks baffled. Then I notice the tag on his shirt that reads _Jakob_. He tells me he's here only as a polisher and can't help me decide what to get for Angelika. "Ah! Here's Herr Oxenstierna. Perhaps he could help you. His father owns this shop," he says. I turn around and get ready to bombard this Herr Oxenstierna with questions, and the Herr Oxenstierna I see is Berwald. My Berwald!

I am dumbfounded. Berwald stands in front of me, same stoic expression, clothed (with glasses), and at the youngest that I have ever seen him. Berwald is working in this store, standing in front of me, in my, _this_, present. Right here, and right now. I am exuberant. Berwald is staring (glaring) at me, expecting me to say something.

"How can I help you?" he asks.

"Berwald!" I had to clench my fists to stop myself from embracing him. His eyes widen, probably wondering how the hell this strange little boy knows him.

"I'm sorry, do I know you? I'm not…" Berwald's frown increased threefold, searching through his memory, and perhaps, _perhaps_, realising that one of his future selves has met me, this happy boy clad in leather and wearing a messenger bag. The last time I saw him, he was telling me that he wouldn't have sex with me.

I attempt an explanation. "I'm Tino Väinämöinen. I knew you when I was younger…" I'm aghast because I'm in love with this man, who is standing here before me, yet he recalls nothing of me. Everything that has happened in the past is yet to happen for him. The oddity of this situation almost made me burst out laughing. I have made memories with Berwald, when he is looking at me, puzzled and freaked out by the situation of things. Berwald wearing Markus' old sweatpants, helping me memorise the multiplication tables, quizzing me on Swedish grammar, world geography; Berwald laughing at the salmiakki sandwich I made him when I was eight; Berwald kissing me with his sweet tasting mouth on my fourteenth birthday. Standing there! Now! "Do you want to drink coffee with me? Or have lunch or dinner or _anything_…" He has got to say yes, this Berwald who's loved me in the past must love me now, _somehow_, through future memory or something of that sort. To my tremendous relief, he does say yes, though hesitantly. We plan to meet tonight at a nearby restaurant, while Jakob stares at us, tremendously confused, and I leave, forgetting the present for Angelika, and drift out of the store and into the November Stockholm sun, getting my bike and whistling, whilst I ride back home.

**Berwald**

It's an average day in November, cold and cold. I'm at my dad's shop, walking around. I was whittling and sculpting a commission, but decided to take a break after my eyes started hurting. The actual store is empty, as far as I can tell. Most people tend to stick to the gallery to see my dad and my works. The woodwork is beautiful, but doing nothing is dull. Actually, I feel lonely. Last night, I was drinking myself away through dad's scotch, trying to forget about Rosemarie Andreasson. Something happened, something I don't remember. It caused us to fight the entire night. I'm still hungover. I need sleep. Realising that I've been staring at the wall for a bit, I decided to go deeper into the store in hopes of finding something to do. I stop when I hear Jakob's voice saying, "Ah! Here's Herr Oxenstierna. Perhaps he could help you. His father owns this shop," which basically means, "Help me, Berwald! I don't even know what I'm doing here!" And this breathtakingly beautiful blond, gracile, and petite boy turns around and looks at me like I'm some Angel sent from the Heavens. I get nervous. He obviously recognises, or _knows_ me, and I've no clue as to who he is. God help me, I've no idea what I said to this lustrous creature, and I am forced to play shopkeeper and say in my friendliest tone, "How can I help you?" The boy breathes in sharply and says "Berwald!" in this haunting tone that convinces me that at one point, we somehow have some sort of a magical relationship. This makes me feel even worse. I don't know anything about him, even his name! I say, "I'm sorry, do I know you?" and Jakob shoots me a look that says, _nice going, asshole_. The boy says, "I'm Tino Väinämöinen. I knew you when I was younger," and asks me to go out, and I accept, astounded. He is glowing at me, even though I am shaggy and hungover and look terrible. We are going to have dinner later tonight in a quaint little Vietnamese restaurant that nobody really knows about, and since Tino successfully landed a date with me, he ran out of the store, looking happy. As I stand where he left me, stunned, I realise that some giant chunk of my future has found me in the present, and I start to crack up. I cross the store to look out the door and see Tino riding away in his bike, whistling 'The Boy With The Arab Strap' by Belle and Sebastian. My eyes are misty, and I've no clue as to why they should be.

_Later that evening:_

**Berwald**

At 5:20, I told my dad that I was going home because I needed to make myself attractive for my date. Home is a loft; nearby my old home and where my dad still lives today. The loft is roomy and the door is high enough that I won't hit my head on it. The First Step: unlock the three locks that embellish the door, throw myself into the bathroom and begin to strip. The Second Step: shower and shave. The Third Step: dig through my closet in hopes of finding something other than polos and jeans. I find a white button up shirt behind all my polos. I decide to wear a pinstripe vest, pinstripe trousers, Oxford shoes, and a dark blue tie. The Fourth Step: slip all these on and realise that I look like a butler. The Fifth Step: look around and that the loft is messier than before. I will, at all cost, avoid bringing Tino over after dinner, if there was any chance of that happening. The Sixth Step: look in the bathroom mirror and find that I look like a slightly younger, and slightly taller version of the Alexander Johansson in Rosemarie's magazines. I ponder what sort of clothing Tino has seen me wear, since I'm not visiting him from the future, and thus wearing my own clothes. He said he was younger? An overabundance of inexplicable questions runs through my head. I take a moment to breathe and clear my head. Okay. I take my wallet and keys, and I was off: lock the three locks, walk through the cooling street, buy Tino a lily from a nearby florist, walk three more blocks from there, and manage to be a few minutes late. Tino is seated nearby a window and looks pleased when he spots me. He waves at me as if I was some sort of supermodel.

"Hey," I say. Tino is wearing a blue shirt and a bowtie. He looks like a doll: huge amethyst eyes, cute button nose, rosy cheeks, and pink lips that look smooth. His hair is blond and his fringe covers his brows, parted slightly on the right. Tino is so pale that he looks like a porcelain doll on display at the toy store. I hand him the lily. "For you."

"Kittos," says Tino, his eyes grinning. He looks at me and realises that I'm wondering why he's so happy about flowers. "You've never given me flowers."

I sit in front of him. I am mesmerized. This boy is _familiar_ with me; this isn't an acquaintance that my future persona has made. The waitress appears and hands us menus.

"Tell me," I commanded.

"Tell you what?"

"Everything. I don't understand how you know me, but I don't know you. I'm really sorry about that–"

"Oh. No, it's okay. I completely understand." Tino leans in closer to me and lowers his voice. "All these things? They've already happened to me, but not you. I've known you for a long time."

"How long?"

"Ten years or so. I first met you when I was eight."

"Lord. Have you seen me often? Or was it only occasional occurrences?"

"When I last saw you, you told me to bring this notebook to dinner when we see each other again," Tino shows me a Moomins journal, "and here it is,"—he hands it to me—"the notebook you told me to bring." I open the folded page. The page, which has a watermark of Moominpapa in the centre, contains a list of dates. It starts with June 11, 1998, and ends sixteen small, blue, Moomins pages later on December 6th, 2005. I count. There are 152 dates, written neatly in the large, blue, ballpoint pen of an eight year old.

"Did you write all these? Are they all accurate?"

"Actually, you told me the dates. I only wrote them down. You told me a few years ago that you've memorised all these dates. I don't actually know how this exists, but to me; it seems like some sort of Mobius strip. I'm certain that they're accurate. I used them to know when go to The Puutarha to meet you." The waitress comes back and takes our orders; ca tim kho to for Tino and pho for me. A waiter brings us tea and I pour us a cup each.

"What is The Puutarha?" I'm practically bouncing in my seat. I've never met anyone from my future before, let alone this angel seated before me who has encountered me 152 times.

"The Puutarha is a clearing near my parents' place back in Lapland, in Finland, of course. One end of it is a taiga and the other is a house. It's only a few metres long and it has a big rock in the middle. When you're there, no one can really see you because that part of the land dips down. I used to play there all the time to be alone and I genuinely thought that nobody would bother me if I were there. One afternoon, when I was in third grade, I came out to play there and I saw you."

"Stark naked and regurgitating, probably."

"Oh no. Actually, you looked pretty composed. I remember that you said my name and vanished after saying it. In retrospect, I think you've probably been there before. I think that your first time was in 1999; I was nine. You kept saying 'Oj herregud,' and staring at me. You kept trying to cover yourself and I sort of concluded that this old guy who lacks clothing would always appear magically from the future and demand clothing." Tino smiles, "And food."

"What's so funny?"

"I made you the strangest mixture of foods over the years. Nutella and salmiakki sandwiches. Blodpudding with cake. I think I wanted to see react to my food, but it sadly never happened. And I was trying to charm you with my amazing taste in food."

"How old was I?"

"The oldest I've seen you was forty-something. I'm not too sure about the youngest. Thirty-something? How old are you now?"

"Twenty-five."

"You look really young to me now. The last few years, you were in your forties and you looked like you've been through a lot. I can't really tell with that face of yours. When you're little, all adults were big and old."

Tino smiles. "We did a lot of things. It changed depending on my age and the weather. You spent most of your time helping me with my studies, especially maths and Swedish. We sometimes played games. Mostly though, we just talked about stuff. When I was young, I thought you might be one of God's messengers; I asked you a lot of things about the afterlife. Last time I saw you, I tried to convince you to have sex with me, and you said a stern no, which made me become more determined. You didn't even budge. You were really parental, somehow."

"That's probably a good thing. But I don't really want to be thought of as parental now." Our eyes meet. Tino smiled at me and I did my best to muster one on too, and we are conspirators. "What about winter? Winters in Northern Finland were more extreme than the ones here, right?"

"Ha ha. I used to smuggle you into my fort; it's sort of an addition to my room that's above my actual room, do you get what I'm trying to say? Anyways, you kept hitting your head on the roof and had to stay seated for long sometimes. I'd always give you tons of blankets and feed you food that I smuggled from the table. I remember one time, my mum got suspicious and I wasn't allowed to bring food up. You had to live off of salmiakki and rye bread for three days."

I shudder internally and Tino laughs. "Did you learn to cook?"

"No. I can't cook to save my life. Ingeborg and Bjørg never let me in the kitchen and would get angry every time I touch their cooking utensils. And I don't really have to cook here, you know? I live in an apartment, but the campus always has free food." Tino takes a bite of his eggplant. "This is so good."

"Ingeborg and Bjørg?"

"Ingeborg is our cook." Tino smiles. "Ingenborg is basically Martha Stewart meets Finnish cuisine. Bjørg is our housekeeper and basically took role of _mum_. I mean, my mother is…ah, Bjørg is always there, and she's Norwegian and really strict, but she's so comforting, and my mum's kind of, out of it, you know?"

I nod as I chew on the noodles.

"Oh, and don't forget about Tuomas," Tino adds. "Tuomas is the gardener."

"Hm. Your family's got servants. It sounds way out of my league. Have I met any of them?"

"You met my mummo before she died. She was the only one I told about you. She was pretty much blind by then. She knew that we were to be wed and wanted to meet you."

I stop eating and look at Tino. He looks back at me, angelic, serene, and completely calm. "Are we going to get married?"

"I don't know. Probably?" he replies. "You've been telling me for years that wherever it is you're coming from, you're married to me."

Overload. This is just too much. I close my eyes and try to clear my head; it would be bad if I lost my grip on the here and now.

"Berwald? Berwald, are you okay?" I feel Tino lean closer to me. I open my eyes and he holds my hands strongly in his. I look at his hands and see that they are the hands of a child, still smooth and perfect. "Berwald, I'm so sorry, I'm really not used to this. Usually, it's the opposite. You're the one who usually knows everything and now, I'm the one who's omniscient. I should probably go slower." He smiles. "Actually, the almost last thing you said to me before you left was 'Go slow, Tino.' You said it in a quoting voice and now I realise that you probably were quoting me." He continues to hold my hands. He looks at me with enthusiasm; with love. I feel immensely humble.

"Tino?"

"Yes?"

"Can we slow down? Can we pretend that this is a normal first date between 2 normal people?"

"Of course." Tino lets go of my hands and eases back into his chair.

"Um. Tino, ah, tell me about yourself. Hobbies? Pets? Unusual sexual tendencies?"

"Shoot."

"Hm. Where do you go to school? Your parents are in Finland, right?"

"I'm at the boarding school. I'm actually in art now."

"Interesting. What do you do?"

For the first time this night, Tino looks shy. "Um. It's sort of…extravagant. And abstract? I don't know, it's somewhat indirectly inspired by flight, but not really." He looks at the table and sips his tea.

"Flight?"

"Um, actually, it's sort of about, um, a teeny bit, about, ah, yearning." Tino looks away from me, so I decide to change the subject.

"Tell me about your family."

"Alright." Tino's face relaxes and the smile returns. "Well, my family lives in Lapland, just a bit off Sodankylä. Our house is really close to the taiga, actually. Originally, my mum's parents, my mummo and pappa Seppänen, owned it. Pappa died before I was born and my mum made mummo live with us until she died. I was fourteen. Pappa was a lawyer and my dad is also a lawyer; dad met my mum when he came to work for Pappa."

"He married the boss' daughter."

"Haha, yeah. I wonder if he only married my mum for the house, though. It's actually a pretty amazing house. My mum's the only child, anyways. The house has tons and tons and tons of books."

"Does the house have a name? Do you know who built it?"

"I have no idea. Never been bothered to ask."

"Sounds like a posh house."

"Welcome to the posh family, or something."

"Siblings?"

"Markus is twenty-three and starting law school in Harvard. Aliisa is fourteen and is in Finland. She weaves." I notice that he seems to care more about Aliisa than Markus. "You're not fond of Markus?"

"He's just a carbon copy of dad. They're both fond of winning and will talk you down until you submit to them."

"I envy you. I've no siblings."

"You're an only child?"

"Uh. Yeah. I though you knew me inside out?"

"I actually know everything and nothing at the same time. I know how you look naked, but I just learnt your surname this afternoon. I knew you lived in Stockholm, but know nothing about your family other than the fact that your mother died in a car crash when you were five. I know you know a lot of things about everything and speak fluent German, French, Finnish and English; I had no idea that you were a joiner. You made it absolutely impossible to find you; you said it will happen when time comes, and here we are."

I nodded. "My family's not posh. They're artists. My dad's Kjell Oxenstierna and my mum was Heidi Gunvaldsson."

"The singer?"

"Hm. And dad's a joiner, as you know." The check arrives. Neither of us has eaten very much and I'm not too interested in food right now. Tino takes out his wallet and I shake my head at him. I pay and stand in the street at the rapidly cooling night. Tino is wearing a mantle over his shirt. I forgot to bring my coat, so I'm freezing.

"Where do you live?" Tino asks.

Damn it. "I live 5, 6 blocks from here. But it's ridiculously messy right now and not in any state to receive visitors. You?"

"At an apartment near the school, remember? I have a roommate."

"If you come to my loft, then you have to close your eyes and count to a googolplex. Is your roommate, somehow, deaf?"

"No, I'm not that lucky. I have never brought anyone over; Lukas is going to spit his venom at you and interrogate you until you reveal everything."

"Sounds kinky. Why don't we just go to mine?" I walk across the street and lead Tino to my loft. He chatters the whole way. When we reach the loft, Tino grins and watches me open the locks. He smells faintly of liquorice and flowers. "I need you to close your eyes now. I'll blindfold you." Tino giggles as I pull my tie off. I cover his bejewelled eyes and tie it firmly on the back of his head. I open the door and sit him down on a couch. "Right. Start counting, please. In Finnish."

Tino counts. I race around the loft, cleaning everything up, making sure everything is presentable, and I even clean my room up in case I get lucky. I clear away all the cups and dishes and take away my whittling tools and put them in the right drawers. As he says "Yhdeksänsataa kuusikymmentä seitsemän," I untie the tie and he opens his eyes. I sit down on the sofa next to him. "Candlelight? Music? I would offer you wine, but you're underage."

"Fine! Leave the Finn be! I kid. Yes, please."

I get up and start lighting the candles. When I'm satisfied, I turn off the lights and the room is illuminated by fire and everything looks much better. I put Tino's lily in the water. I look through my CD collection and decide on the recording of my mum singing Schubert and turn the volume down.

"How beautiful," says Tino. He gets up and sits on the sofa. I sit down next to him. There is a comfortable moment when Tino leans his head on my shoulder and we look at each other. He reaches over and strokes my cheek. "It's so good to see you. I was getting really lonely."

I pull him to me. We kiss. Everything felt right when he pressed his lips on mine. This kiss makes me question what we've done in that clearing of Tino's but I push the question away. Our lips part; usually, if it were someone else, I would probably be figuring out a way to shed clothing, but instead, I lean back and stretch out, bringing Tino with me by holding his waist. He is facing me and I am propped up by my elbow. I can feel his flushed body through his clothes. All I want to do is to shed his clothes and ravish him, but I'm much too tired and dumbfounded.

"Poor Berwald."

"Why? I'm really happy right now." And it's absolutely true.

"Oh. I've been shooting you with surprises as much as I've shot the target in Sodankylä with my sniper." Tino straddles me so he is sitting right on top of my cock. It catches my attention wonderfully.

"Don't move," I command.

"Okay. I'm finding all of these things very much entertaining. Since, you know, Knowledge is Power and all that. I've also been curious to where you live and what you wear and what you do for a living."

"Now you know. Except the job, you know. Especially when I'm still in college." I untuck his shirt and slide my hands up his smooth tummy. "Tino?"

"Kyllä?"

"It seems like such a shame to shove everything down at once. Anticipation does not particularly hurt."

Tino is embarrassed. "I'm sorry! But I've been waiting for years. And it's not food. It's not like it's going to disappear after I indulge in it."

"Have your cake then."

"That's what I live by." He smiles a wicked smile and thrusts his hips back and forth. My pants are now awake and painfully tight.

"You seem to get what you want."

"Oh yeah, all the time. I'm so horrible. Except when I'm with you. I had to suffer through your system of Swedish verbs and grammar."

"You should thank me. You are now speaking Swedish fluently to me. But alas, you have this weapon of yours. Do you use it against all the boys?"

Tino is offended; I can't tell if he's playing. "I would not do this with _boys_. Your brain is filled with nasty ideas!" He starts unbuttoning my shirt. "God, why are you so… young?" He bites my collarbone, hard. The hell with morality. I've already halfway through unbuttoning his shirt.

_The next morning:_

**Tino**

I wake up and I have no idea where I am. Ceiling that isn't painted with the colours of the universe. Birds chirping. Bookshelves. A chair with my trousers slung over it and a vest slung over the trousers. Then, everything rushes back to me. I turn my head and there's Berwald. So uncomplicated, as if I've been doing this everyday that I have woken up. He is sleeping peacefully; arm draped on my waist, his face is relaxed, and short wheaten hair sprawled on the pillow. So peaceful. So easy. Here we are. In the present, finally the present.

I get out of bed carefully. The springs squeak a tad bit as I stand up, wincing at the slight pain on my hips. I find the bathroom and it's so much bigger than the one I have. I pee and wash face and hands. There are 2 toothbrushes in the white cup.

I open the medicine cabinet. Razors, shaving cream, Listerine, Tylenol, aftershave, a toothpick, and deodorant on the top shelf. Lotions, tampons, deodorant, a diaphragm case, lipstick, a bottle of vitamins and spermicide on the bottom shelf. The lipstick is a very dark shade of red.

I stand there, stunned, holding the lipstick. I feel a little sick to my stomach. I wonder what she looks like, what her name is. I wonder how long they've been in a relationship for. Long. Long enough. I put the lipstick back and close the medicine cabinet. In the mirror, I see myself. Ashen, blond hair looking like a tornado's been through. _Well, whoever you are, I'm right here now. You may be Berwald's past, but I'm his present; his future._ I smile at myself. Through the reflection, it looks more like a grimace. I borrow Berwald's robe that was hanging from the back of the bathroom door. Underneath that is a pale pink silk robe. Wearing Berwald's robe makes me feel better, for reasons unknown.

Back in the room, Berwald is still sleeping. I grab my phone from the pocket of my trousers and see that it's only 6:30. I'm too restless to go back to sleep. I decide on looking through his bookshelves. Just looking at the titles present made me calm down a tiny bit. That is a side of Berwald that I know well.

The bed squeaks and I flinch. He is squinting, unable to see anything. He still doesn't know me yet. I'm scared that he's forgotten who I am.

"You look cold," he says. "Come back and snuggle, Tino."

I climb into bed, still wearing his robe. As he slides his hand inside, he stops for a second. I see that he's made the connection between his bathrobe and I.

"Does it bother you?" he asks.

I take and exasperated breath and hesitate.

"Yes. It bothers you. Of course." Berwald sits up and I follow. He looks at me. "It was almost over, anyway."

"Almost?"

"I was going to break up with her. It's just bad timing. Or good. I'm not sure." He's trying to read my face, perhaps find some sort of emotion? Forgiveness? It's not his fault. How could he have known? "We've sort of been at each other's necks for a long time…" he's talking faster than I've heard him speak before. He stops. "Do you want to know?"

I shook my head.

"Thank you." Berwald puts his glasses on and covers his eyes. "I'm so sorry. I never knew that you were coming, and if I did, I would've cleaned up more. Not just my house, but my life." I stroke his cheek. He takes my hand and holds it. "Am I different? Different than you expected?" he asks, frightened.

"Yes…you're more…" _selfish,_ I think, but I say, "…younger."

He sighs. "Is that good or bad?"

"I don't know." I run both hands over his cheeks and down to his back, memorising every indentation, and massaging his muscles. "Have you seen yourself in your forties?"

"Yes. I look archaic and mutilated."

"Yes, but… I mean, you _know_ me… so. Um. You know?"

"You're saying that I'm awkward."

I shake my head, even though the statement that he's just said is true. "It's just that it's usually me who doesn't know but now, it's you who has no idea. I don't know…"

Berwald is solemn. "I'm sorry. He doesn't exist yet. Just stay, and he'll appear soon. That's all I can do for you right now."

"That's completely fine," I say. "But now…"

He turns to look at me in the eyes. "Now?"

"I want…"

"You want…"

I'm blushing. Berwald smiles and pushes me gently down to the pillows. "You know…"

"I don't know. But I can guess a thing or two."

Later, we're lying, legs entangled, our skins are touching. Berwald mumbles something against my neck and I don't really hear him.

"What?"

"I was just thinking. It's peaceful here with you. You know, knowing that the future is taken care of and stuff."

"Berwald?"

"Hm?"

"How come never told yourself about me?"

"I don't do that."

"And why is that?"

"I don't tell myself ahead of time unless it's huge. I'm trying to live as normal as I can, and I avoid having contact with myself, usually."

I think about this for a while. "I would tell myself everything."

"I doubt that."

"I tried to make you tell me things." I roll onto my back and Berwald lies on top of me. It's sort of strange to be talking, like we did, but how close I am to him makes it hard to focus.

"Did I tell you anything?" he asks.

"Sometimes. When you thought that you had to."

"Like what?"

"What a hypocrite. You said you'd never tell. So I'm not telling."

Berwald chuckles. "Okay. I deserve it. I'm hungry. Let's go get food."

Outside, it's frosty. Cars and cyclists cruise along the road while couples stroll down the sidewalk, and we are one of them, in the morning sunlight, hand in hand, finally together. I feel a tiny pang of remorse, as if I've lost a secret, and then a rush of ecstasy: everything starts now.

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((A/N: Whew. Did you like that? That took a while to write. But it was fun, as I said before. Reviews are much appreciated! Once again, The Time Traveler's Wife and Hetalia do not belong to me. I forgot to mention, they're speaking in Swedish, but I wrote it in English for obvious reasons. Sorry if Stockholm or Sodankylä is interpreted wrongly. Never been out of the Tropics. Seasons are unfamiliar to me. Damn parents and their loathing of cold seasons! Anyways, I hope you liked this. This is me procrastinating. I'm supposed to be studying for exams and writing essays, but this is so much more fun! Once again, reviews are appreciated!))

(((A/N 2: I changed their ages. Yes. Um. Because. Because I have the liberty to. This is my story. So I changed their age. Working on chapter 2, bear with me.))


	3. Chapter 2: A First Time For Everything

I do not own any of the works mentioned in the chapter below.

Sorry for the delay! I swear, the internet is so distracting. I bet some of you are meant to be working.

I am too.

/shot

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**_A First Time for Everything_**

_Saturday, June 6, 1987_

**Berwald**

The first time was phenomenal. How was I to comprehend what it had meant? It was my fifth birthday, and my parents brought me to the Stockholms stadsmuseum. I think it was my first time going there. My parents were telling me about how much fun I was going to have. Mum had just gotten back from Toronto and bought me a gem, amethyst, that rested upon a bed of cotton inside a clear case. I would hold it so close to my face that I saw nothing but amethyst. It brought a feeling upon me, a feeling that I tried to mimic with alcohol and found again with Tino, a feeling of emptiness, relief, and senselessness. My parents described everything to my bouncy 5-year-old self. I was so thrilled that I awoke an hour before the sun did. I put on my sneakers and took out my amethyst and went into the backyard and down the steps to look at the river in my pyjamas. I sat by the river and watched the sun come out. I remember seeing a mummy duck and her babies swim in the river. I probably fell asleep. I heard Mum calling from the house and made my way back up, making sure to be careful and not drop the amethyst. She was irked with me for going out by myself, but didn't fuss about it, considering it was my birthday.

Both of them decided to take a break that night so they were in no rush to dress and to get out the door. I was ready long before they took their showers. I sat on their bed and pretended to read Mum's score. This was around the time where my musical parents realised that I, their one and only offspring, was musically illiterate. It's not that I didn't want to try; I just could never pick up how it was supposed to sound by reading the scores. I loved music, but when I attempted to recreate it the way they did, it only sounded like a screech. And though I was able to read books when I was four, scores just looked like pretty black blobs to me. But still, my parents were still hoping for musical proficiency, so when I pretended to read the score, Mum sat down next to me and attempted to aid me in reading it. A few moments after that, Mum started to sing and I was screeching along with her. I started snapping my fingers offbeat and Mum started tickling me and we were giggling. Dad walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and joined us and both Mum and Dad started singing for a few wondrous minutes and Dad picked me up and Mum danced along with us in a waltz. Then, the phone rang and the singing halted. Mum went out to answer it and dad sat me down on the floor to get dressed.

Finally, after a long wait, they were ready. Mum wore a purple dress and heels; she painted her nails purple to match her dress. Dad looked magnificent in black pants and a dark blue shirt, a striking contrast to Mum's exuberance. We all sat down in the car. I lay on the backseat. I've always had the backseat to myself. I looked at the sky through the windows.

"Sit up Berwald," Mum said. "We're here."

I sat up and looked at the building. This satisfied my requirements for Museum. After being dragged by my parents around The United Kingdom and Ireland. Since it was Monday, it was easy to find a parking spot. My parents brought me inside and explained everything to me, to which I responded with, "I can read!"

When we were told that the museum was closing, I nearly cried because I wanted to stay. I was exhausted and Dad ended up carrying me back to the car. I fell asleep in the backseat and when I woke up, we were home and it was time for dinner.

We had dinner in Mr and Mrs Honda's apartment. They were our landlords. Mr Honda was quiet and old fashioned. He seemed to like me though he's never said anything much. Mrs Honda (she insisted that I call her Honey) was my friend, my crazy Japanese sake-drinking babysitter. I spent most of my day with Honey. My mum wasn't the best cook, but Honey could cook anything from pizza to nyponsoppa. Tonight, she cooked köttbullar and strawberry shortcakes (a request from me).

We dug into the food. They sang happy birthday and I blew the candle on my slice of cake. I don't actually remember what I wished for. But I remember that I was allowed to stay up later than usual because it was my birthday, and a five-year-old's request had to be fulfilled unless you want a nightmare on your hands. I sat in the front porch with my parents and Mr and Mrs Honda. I drank cranberry juice while the adults had sake, I believe. We sat there for quite a while, my parents talked to the Hondas about going to Kyoto and me staring at the night sky. Eventually, Mum said, "Bear, bedtime." I brushed my teeth and tried stalling bedtime by asking Dad to read me stories. He complied. It was my birthday, after all. After he read to me for a while, I still couldn't sleep. Mum came in and started singing to me for a while, but I still couldn't sleep. Mum pursed her lips and told me that she'd play piano for me outside. She played Debussy's _Claire de Lune_ and Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_. She then walked into my room to see if I was still awake. I must have looked tiny in my too-big bed, a hyper little birthday-boy.

"Oh. Still can't sleep, Bear?"

I nodded pathetically.

"Mum's sleepy and Dad's already in bed. Will you be okay?"

"_Oui._"

She smiled and gave me a hug. "Pretty exciting day today, huh? You're five years old!"

"Can we go to the museum again tomorrow?"

"No, but we can go back really soon, alright?"

"Okay."

"Goodnight, Bear." She left my door open and turned off the hall lights. "Sleep tight and sweet dreams."

I could hear noises: the sink running, toilet flushing, and rustle of bedsheets. Then all was silent. I decided to get out of bed and stare at the empty street. I heard a few cats meowing and could see some headlights. I stayed at the window for a while and decided to stand up. Everything changed then.

_Thursday, January 2, 2004, 4:06 a.m./ Saturday, June 6, 1987, 10:53 p.m. (Berwald is 21 and 5)_

**Berwald**

It's 4:06 a.m., I was in an all-night drunk gaming frenzy playing _Freedom Fighters_. It's below freezing outside and I'm about ready to crash. I turn the Xbox off and crawl to my room. I was about ready to crash to bed, but I don't land on soft mattress. No. I land on hard marble. I stand up and see that I am now naked. In Stockholms stadsmuseum. I remember that today, I will be seeing little me time travel for the first time. I run to find the employee lockers and throw on clothes at random. Luckily, they fit. Unluckily, they smell like horse ass. I sprint towards the lobby are and await my small self, a large shirt in hand.

He appears nearby my standing spot.

"Berwald." I call out softly.

I hear his breath hitch, but he doesn't move.

"Hey, Berwald. It's okay. I'm your own private tour guide. We can look at all the exhibits again. Don't be scared."

I hear a slight noise coming from him. I approach him cautiously. "Here, I have a shirt for you, Berwald. Put it on so you won't get cold while we look around again." He is in front of me right now. He looks fearful. I kneel in front of him and hand him the shirt. "Here you go, Berwald. Put it on." He puts on the shirt and looks at me expectantly. My five-year-old self, with choppy haircut, no glasses yet, ivory-pale and same stoic face.

"Hey. I'm really glad to see you, Berwald. Thank you for being here."

"Where am I? Who are you?" his voice is small and shaking, it echoes a little.

"You're in Stockholms stadsmuseum. I'm here to give you a special tour of the museum. It's only us here. My name is Berwald as well, isn't that silly?"

He nods a little.

"Would you like some Oreos? I love eating Oreos when I'm walking around museums." He reaches for it but hesitates. He is unsure of whether it is real or not. He is hungry, but he doesn't know how much he can take without being rude. "Take as many as you wish. I've already eaten a pack myself, so to be fair, you get your own pack." He takes the whole package. "Do you want to go anywhere first?" he mutters a no. "Alright, we can go look a the things that aren't on display, okay?"

"Okay."

We walk to the storage area. He's walking slowly, cautiously, and I follow behind him.

"Where's Mum?"

"She's sleeping at home. This is a very special tour only you can have because it's your birthday. And besides, grown-ups don't do this sort of thing."

"Aren't you a grown-up?"

"I'm an atypical grown-up. My job is to go on adventures. Of course I came when you said you wanted to come back here. I want to show you around."

"But how did I even get here?" he stops and looks at me with a confused look on his face.

"It's a secret. If I tell you, you're not allowed to tell anyone else."

"Why?"

"Nobody's going to believe you. The only people you're allowed to tell are Mum, Dad, and Honey, okay?"

"Okay."

I kneel in front of him. In front of my younger self, innocent, and frowning. I look at him in the eyes. "Pinky promise."

"Oui."

"Time travel. You got here by time traveling. Like in Back to the Future, but without the time machine. Your body is sort of the machine. You travelled just a few hours back and you're probably going to go home soon." He is looking at the ground thoughtfully. "Make sense?"

"My body is like the time machine. How?"

"That I don't know. You'll probably be the first to know when I figure it out. Let's move along."

After looking around the whole museum, we sit on the stairs and chat about one thing or another. He tells me he's starting to learn French and about Mum and Dad and the Hondas. He also tells me about his best friend Alfhild. I completely forgot about her. We stay best friends until about 5 months from now, and she'll move to Copenhagen right about then. He keeps on chattering and asks a few things about me. I tell him about Rosemarie and my workshop.

Then, he screams and reaches out for my hand. I grabbed the collar of his shirt but he's gone. I know that he's going to go to bed right about now. I remember everything. How could I forget? I woke up in the morning and tell Mum and Dad about it over breakfast. Mum had laughed and said that she wants to try it to.

That was the beginning.

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((A/N: Wow okay I took forever to update. Don't kill me please. I was busy playing on my PS3 /shot. Yes. I changed their ages. And Tino has to get pregnant in a later chapter. Head's up warning. Just saying. So my exams went well, I suppose. Kept my GPA at 3.8 points. Aw yiss. Um review? I'll be super extra happy if you do. I write this whilst listening to Finntroll's Ur jordens djup. It doesn't go well with this. Sorry for shit description. Never been to the Stockholm City Museum. Or outside of Asia for that matter. I hope you enjoyed and do not forget to review. I live off of reviews. You don't want your beloved author to die, now do you? Okay I'll shut up now.))


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